


Rahheken: A Skyrim Story

by CreatorWorks



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:23:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreatorWorks/pseuds/CreatorWorks
Summary: Zelda, an altmer from Alinor, is plagued by strange visions. She is sent by the Thalmor to Skyrim, where she gets more than she bargained for.





	1. Prologue

I toss and turn, quaking. Drops of cold sweat cover my skin. I try to listen but cannot hear. I try to see but cannot understand. The voice roars so loudly but floats just out of reach. Then the words, the same incomprehensible words, spear through my soul from beyond:

**“ _OFAAL DEZIIL_ ”**

My eyes snap open as I wake with a start. I put a hand to my throbbing forehead and sigh. Another vision. I’ve had them all my life, but they’ve been coming more and more frequently as I’ve travelled further north. I rub my temples and sit up, shaking off the headache always brought on by these visions. I have been waiting my entire life to understand one of them, any of them. To know the meaning behind the strange words uttered in my dreams. I do not know what words they are - I can never recall them while awake. In the way of dreams, I only recognize them while sleeping. I had gone to the best priests in Alinor, but despite days upon days of prayers, rituals, and spells, I was never given a solution. Instead they finally sent me here to the embassy in Skyrim, telling me only that Elenwen would have a job for me. Today, I find out what this job is that I’ve been sent here to do.

I get up, dress in the provided uniform of hooded robes, and head downstairs for breakfast.

“Ah, Zelda. How nice of you to finally join us.” Elenwen’s voice drips with derisive sarcasm. “We were just finishing up here. See me in my solar once you’ve eaten.” I nod politely and take a seat at the far end of the table. I had overslept because of the vision, not incompetence or negligence, but this is not the proper time or place to argue that point. One by one the others filter out as I eat. The last to leave is Malborn, who gives me a small smile on his way out when he is sure no one is looking. We seem to be becoming friends despite only meeting yesterday. Something about our mutual distaste for cruelty - and for Elenwen - formed a fast bond between us. My father would _not_ approve of my making friends with a wood elf - nor would most others here, for that matter - but I’ve never held to the racist ideals of the other highborn nobles. I mean, at least wood elves are still elves.

Once I am finished eating, I head for Elenwen’s office as instructed. I walk in to find her talking in hushed tones with Rulindil, one of her highest ranking justiciars. She looks up as I walk in and straightens, saying “Zelda. Late again. I’m afraid I am occupied with other matters now. Take that file on my desk there, and if you have any questions, don’t bother anyone important with them.” And with that she turns back to Rulindil. I give a slight bow, take the file from her desk, and quickly leave.

Back in my room, I begin thumbing through the file. Most of it appears to be annotated excerpts from a book entitled _Lost Wonders of the Ages, Volume 3_. On the whole it seems to be a collection of myths, rumors, conjecture, and some minor scrying and prophecy, all related to eight divine relics once owned by Pelinal Whitestrake. I raise an eyebrow in surprise. Few today recognize that name, and I wasn’t aware there were any holy relics supposed to be connected to his legend. He is infamous in myth as the bloodthirsty warrior-king who drove the elves out of Cyrodiil in the first era. The legends and rumors referenced in this file seem to imply that he did so using armor and weapons forged for him by the Divines themselves, which is ludicrous. The Aedra would never have endorsed such a monster. This must be human propaganda. But apparently a set of eight relics does exist, as according to this they were collected by the laughably named “Knights of the Nine” at the end of the third era, and then used against us in the Great War thirty years ago. The Knights fell, of course, but the Dominion soldiers were unable to recover the relics before they were taken from the battlefield and hidden. It seems they were brought north to Skyrim and scattered all across the province, and now it is my job to use the information in this file to track them down so they can be destroyed.

Well, at least it’s a worthy goal.


	2. Solitude

_ > Knock knock knock < _

I look up from packing to see Malborn at my door. “So, I hear you're leaving us. And so soon after you arrived!” He smiles. “Can I ask where you're off to?”

“Solitude,” I reply with a small smile before resuming packing. Malborn tilts his head quizzically at the large pack and bedroll I am putting together.

“You're packing all that for a trip to Solitude? You do know it’s just up the road, right?”

I hesitate before answering. The file didn't say anything about the mission being secret, so I suppose there's no harm in telling him. “Solitude is just my first stop. They're sending me all over Skyrim, looking for a set of magical artifacts.” I feel myself loosening up. “Honestly, it's probably a wild goose chase, mostly based on rumors and legends. But there is just enough credibility to be worth looking into, so that's where I come in.” I finish arranging things on my bedroll and start rolling it up and strapping it to my pack. Malborn nods thoughtfully.

“Well, if you need any help, don't hesitate to ask.” He smiles, and I smile back.

“Thank you, Malborn. I appreciate that.” I shoulder my pack, give Malborn a parting nod, and head outside.

~ ~ ~

By the Eight is it ever cold! Snow falls from the sky and the wind chills me to the bone. I hug my wolfskin mantle tighter around my shoulders as I head down the mountain path toward the main road. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the idea of weather that brings flakes of _ice_ from the sky. Why did they have to put the embassy up on a mountain? Well, at least I’ll be spending most of my time in the lowlands where snow is rarer outside of winter.

I pull out a few pages of my mission file and look them over as I walk, partly to keep the information fresh in my mind and partly to keep my mind off the freezing wind that seems to blow right through me. Solitude is the one confirmed location of a relic, which makes it the perfect place to start. Apparently there is an enchanted chest in the Temple of the Divines with an engraved inscription saying it can only be touched by one blessed by the Divines. The chest is supposed to contain a sword allegedly crafted by Arkay, and the notes speculate that it is His blessing that is needed to open it. However, they also note that the Thalmor priests of Arkay sent to deal with it were unable to affect the chest in any way; they were not even able to move it, so it still sits untouched in the chapel near the shrine alcove.

I find all of this quite puzzling. What do the Thalmor expect me to do that their own priests could not? Aside from my noble blood and a penchant for magic, I am quite unremarkable. Well, that and my dreams. Maybe the priests back home saw something in them? A marking of the Divines? I don’t know. But they seem to have some reason to believe that I can succeed where their best efforts so far could not. I will certainly do my best.

By the time I reach Solitude it has stopped snowing, and the biting cold has mellowed to a crisp chill. I head in through the main gate to find the town square crowded with people. Something seems to be happening on the dais at the end of the square. I hear a child’s voice ring out from the crowd:

“They can’t hurt Uncle Roggvir! Tell them he didn’t do it!”

“Svari, you need to go home,” a man replies. “Go home and stay there until your mother comes.”

As the girl runs off, a woman walks up to him. “You should tell her that her uncle is scum who betrayed his High King. Best she know now, Addvar.”

“You’re all heart, Vivienne.”

I turn my attention to the raised platform, where several guards appear to be holding a man in prison rags. And that’s when I notice the executioner.

The guard captain speaks up. “Roggvir. You helped Ulfric Stormcloak escape this city after he murdered High King Torygg. By opening that gate for Ulfric you betrayed the people of Solitude.”

Roggvir steps forward, holding his head up proudly. “There was no murder! Ulfric challenged Torygg. He beat the High King in fair combat. Such is our way! Such is the ancient custom of Skyrim, and all Nords!”

I sigh and shake my head. I had heard of Ulfric’s ridiculous claim to Skyrim’s throne, but hadn’t given much thought to it. To hear this man speak of it with such pride… I don’t doubt his sincerity or his honesty. It would not surprise me at all to find that Nords believe killing a king earns you his throne. Barbarians. The crowd seems to feel the same way, as boos and hisses and cries of “Traitor!” ring out across the square.

I’ve seen enough. I make my way through the crowd toward the market district. Before I get out of earshot, I hear Roggvir’s last words:

“On this day, I go to Sovngarde.”

I miss a step at the sound of the axe falling. However much one deserves execution, the reality of it always makes my stomach turn. I shake it off and move on through the market toward the temple.

~ ~ ~

“Blessings of the Eight Divines upon you. How can I help?” one of the temple acolytes greets me.

“Thank you, yes, I’m looking for the chest said to contain the Sword of the Crusader?”

“Ah, yes. It’s right over there, in an alcove just past the shrines at the front of the chapel.”

I thank her, drop a septim in the collection box, and head over to look at the chest. It is very finely crafted, made from heavy stone with simple but elegantly carved trim. I kneel down and reach out to touch it, only to find that I cannot. There is no tangible barrier, but my hand simply stops a short distance from the chest.

Curious.

I stand up and walk back over to the shrine alcove at the front of the chapel. It is really a set of nine alcoves, each containing a pedestal, all but one of which holds a shrine to one of the Eight Divines. The ninth pedestal stands empty, as well it should. It still strikes me as ridiculous that anyone could believe a human had become a God. The sooner the Thalmor finish stamping out the Talos cult, the better. I suppose it wouldn’t be worth the effort to remodel the temple, but honestly I find even the reminder of the empty alcove distracting. I try to ignore it as I kneel before the shrine to Arkay and focus my thoughts toward Aetherius.

“ _Come to me, Arkay,_ ” I recite from memory, “ _for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can anyone live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit._ God of birth and death, I ask for your blessing. Give me the power to breach this enchantment, that I may root out heresy and falsehood until only true glory remains to shine with the light of the Divines.”

As I am praying, my breath comes shorter, my chest tightens, my head starts to swim and ache. I push past the pain to finish my prayer, but by the end it takes all my strength to remain upright and conscious. It is like the headaches I get with my visions, but they have never been this potent before.

“ _ofaal deziil_ ”

It’s the voice again! I have never had a vision while awake before. I fight through the pain to focus on the voice, to try to hear the words.

“I am here, and I am listening. What would you have of me?”

“ _OFAAL DEZIIL_ ”

“Please, tell me what you would have me do. I am at the service of the Divines, please! _Tell me!_ ”

_**“OFAAL DEZIIL, RAHHEKEN!”** _

My eyes snap open as I feel heat ripping into me. Whirling shafts of golden light blow like a fierce wind from all around me, whipping through my mind and body and into my very soul. I feel the swirling currents of energy coursing into me, filling me, empowering and energizing me. When it is done, my headache is gone.

Slowly, I rise to my feet. I feel like a new person. Or, no, not really. I feel like I am more properly myself than I have ever been before. I do not know what just happened, but based on the looks the temple acolytes are giving me, whatever it was did not go unnoticed. Their eyes stay on me as I slowly walk over to the enchanted chest. I kneel down and reach out, finding my hands unimpeded this time. I slowly run a palm along the smooth stone, then with both hands I carefully lift the lid.

Inside is a sword, ancient and weathered but bristling with power. The silvered steel blade is long and straight with a simple engraved fuller, the crossguard lightly swept up toward the blade like a raptor’s wings. The grip is a helix of dark red leather edged with silver, and the pommel is a single brilliant cut ruby the size of my fist. The entire sword crackles with aedric energy, showing no weakness with age.

This is no false relic. No one could see this blade and mistake it for anything less than divine. How it became associated with Pelinal Whitestrake I cannot even begin to fathom, but to destroy something so holy based solely on that monster’s legacy would be a travesty, if not heresy.

With reverent care, I lift the sword from the chest. In my periphery I notice the temple acolytes bowing their heads in respect and awe. I slide the sword into its accompanying red leather sheath, and slip the baldric over my shoulder so that the blade rests across my back under my backpack. I have no skill with a blade so I will not be wielding it, but the Divines have chosen me to carry it and so carry it I shall.

The acolytes stay facing me as I make my way out, bowing as I leave. It occurs to me that their deference may be not to the sword, but to _me_. I don’t quite know how to feel about this or what to do with it, so I simply continue out of the temple.

As soon as I close the doors behind me, there is a rumble of thunder from far to the southeast. Carried with the thunder on the winds come words. Words unknown to me, but not unfamiliar. I know - though how, I am not sure - that these words are in the same language spoken in my visions. I can feel that they carry meaning, but also that they are not meant for me:

_**“DOV AH KIIN!”** _

It would seem I am not the only one to be called by destiny this day.


	3. Ragnvald

I glance around to see how everyone is reacting to the thunderous call from the southeast. Mostly they seem to be glancing around to see how everyone else is reacting. After a few moments, when it becomes clear that no follow up is imminent, everyone goes back to their business, and so do I.

While the first relic was surprisingly easy to get. I doubt that will hold true for the rest of them. I pull open the file and start looking through it, cross referencing it with the map, when my stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I head for the inn, figuring I can do this planning over a warm meal.

The Winking Skeever is a surprisingly nice establishment, given its name. I order a steak and a glass of wine, then go back to poring over my notes and map. As I am planning, a bard sings several local tales, tales of various folk heroes and their sundry adventures. It’s quaint, but charming, and I allow myself to listen between my eating and reading.

Given the likely locations of the relics, it seems to make the most sense to go after the Gauntlets next. The bearer of the Gauntlets is said to have fancied himself a Crusader in his own right, and ended up chasing a vampire through the Reach, pursuing it into a tomb where he slew the vampire, but fell prey to the draugr within. Draugr is not a term I am familiar with, but from context it would appear they are the Nordic equivalent of zombies; living dead haunting ancient crypts. A chill runs down my spine. The annotations list a few possible crypts in the Reach, but weigh heavily towards Ragnvald, nestled in the mountains just north of Markarth, which seems as good a place as any to head to next.

~ ~ ~

On the carriage ride to Markarth, I am struck by just how beautiful Skyrim truly is. Sweeping vistas of rich valleys and rolling hills thick with grasses; outcroppings of dark stone jutting out of the earth sporting colorful mosses and lichens; sheer cliff faces spouting majestic waterfalls that feed into roaring rivers and babbling streams; mighty evergreens thick as buildings and tall as the sky, with needles so green they almost hurt to look at; ancient stonework weathered and worn but still standing strong through the ages; even the snow is beautiful when it is far away, capping enormous mountains that scrape the heavens. From every point along the trip I can look out to the southeast and see the Throat of the World rising up from the center of Skyrim to tower regally above the horizon. Skyrim cannot surpass the glory of Alinor, but I must grudgingly admit that it comes close to matching it.

After spending a night at the Silver-Blood Inn, I leave from Markarth and follow the road north. Using my map and a bit of magic to get my bearings, I turn off the road and onto a little used mountain path that should lead me to Ragnvald. The climb, while strenuous, is uneventful. Besides hanging moss, juniper bushes, and the occasional mountain goat, I am the only living thing for miles in any direction. It is incredibly peaceful.

I turn a corner on the path and notice a large stone structure peeking out from between the rocks and trees. As I get closer, I can make out multiple stone pillars flanking a series of giant stone archways, each almost as tall as the surrounding trees. Passing through the archways are multiple levels of wide stone steps, leading up to an arched hollow cut into the side of the mountain. From this distance, I can just make out a pair of what must be draugr patrolling the area in front of that hollow.

Damn.

Stealth is not my strong suit, but I do my best to sneak the rest of the way up the path, moving from rock to tree to stone, staying hidden as long as possible. I focus my magicka into an orb of fire in my right hand, and a healing aura in my left. I take a deep breath, steady my resolve, and charge.

The first draugr is on fire before it knows what is happening. It turns its glowing blue eyes on me and starts lumbering forward through the flames, lifting an ancient rusty greataxe over its head. Further up the stairs, the other draugr nocks an arrow in a creaky old bow and levels it in my direction.

At the last possible second I duck to the left, the axe and arrow both missing me by inches. I whirl around, keeping a steady stream of fire pouring over the draugr with the axe. Its leathery grey skin is turning black with char as the flames lick up its body. It stumbles back, rearing the axe up for another strike, but succumbs to the burning and clatters to the ground.

I feel a slash of pain as an arrow slices through my shoulder. I dive to the right, taking cover behind a stone pillar, while I assess the damage. It missed the bone, but definitely tore some muscle. I close my eyes, breathe deep, and focus my magicka through the aura prepared in my left hand. White-gold light swirls around me as my skin and muscle knit themselves back together. That’s going to leave a scar, but at least I can continue the fight. I lean to the side of the pillar, and yank my head back just in time for another arrow to whip past my face.

Okay. I can do this. I focus on my right hand again, building up another orb of fire, filling it with power. I draw my hand back, lean to the side past the pillar, and thrust my hand forward. The bolt of fire shoots out and collides with the draugr, bursting on impact with a blast of heat and liquid flame. The draugr tries to pull back another arrow, but whatever magic is preserving both it and its bow fails under the strain of the fire coursing over it. It falls to the ground, dead once more.

I breathe a sigh of relief. That was exciting. And surely there is more of that to come inside. Before I go in, I check the corpses of the draugr for any valuables, and find a few gold coins tucked into their burial clothes. There is also their weapons, of course, but they seem heavy and bulky and probably not worth the effort to lug to a merchant.

As I approach the iron doors embedded in the rock under the arch, I hear a sound like tinkling bells. I glance up to see a tiny ball of light floating there, bobbing gently on a nonexistent breeze. I can’t tell what is emitting the light, but somehow I feel as though it is watching me. It is clearly a thing of magic, and looks similar to light spells I have seen before, but something tells me this is not a spell, but a creature.

Curious.

As I have no way to study it out here, no way to capture it for later, and a crusader’s relic requiring my attention, I leave the strange chiming light creature and head in through the doors.

~ ~ ~

The smell of dust and ancient decay hits my nose as I enter the crypt. The stale air hangs heavy with an almost palpable silence. No one has set foot in here for thousands of years. Well, apart from the would-be crusader, if this is the right place.

I start moving through the antechamber. A faint mist rolls along the floor, catching the light that streams through holes in the ceiling where pieces of stone have fallen loose. Bits of rubble and toppled stone columns litter the floor. In the center of the room is a table, and draped over it is the corpse of a draugr with an arrow in its back.

So that’s a good sign.

I make my way deeper into the catacombs, following the broken down passages, running into a few dead ends from centuries-old cave-ins. The halls are lit by candles and braziers, no doubt kept alight through the eons by magic. Along the way I see a few more draugr corpses on the ground. I have no way to tell how long it’s been since these draugr were dispatched; they may very well have been put there by that crusader thirty years ago. For some reason that doesn’t feel right, though.

My thoughts are interrupted by a strange, rhythmic scraping sound from somewhere up ahead. Curious, I follow the sound. Around a corner, down a stairwell, through an archway, and around another corner I find myself looking down a short hall with three massive, rusty, bladed penduli swinging back and forth across it. I can just make out a lever on the other end of the hall, and a room with a chest in it. On the floor of the hall is the corpse of a draugr who had wandered too close to the swinging blades.

Well, I can’t ignore the chance that this chest contains what I came here for. I steel my resolve, plant my feet, carefully measure the timing between swings, and with a deep breath and a silent prayer to the gods, I spring forward. I have to duck and roll at the last second, but I make it through the hall without a scratch. My heart is pounding, but I take a few deep breaths and regain my composure, pulling the lever to stop the swinging blades. I go to the chest, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the reliquary. This chest is simple wood with an iron padlock that isn’t even locked. Sure enough, I open it with ease to find a few iron weapons and a handful of gold coins inside. I pocket the coins and head back out into the catacombs.

I come into a large chamber crisscrossed with catwalks, staircases, and wood-paneled walls. Hanging from the ceiling in several places are ceramic jars glowing with flame, underneath which are large pools of oil. I recognize that enchantment; the jar refills itself as the oil burns away, so it stays perpetually lit. Crude, but effective. Every now and then it will drip as it refills, and over the centuries those drops collect beneath it as a pool of grease.

My thoughts are cut short at the sound of a growl up ahead. Draugr. I duck back around a corner and steady my breathing, trying to gauge its movements by sound, hoping it hasn’t noticed me yet. I can just hear it; it is definitely coming this way. I hear its footsteps change texture from bone on stone to something wetter, and realize it is walking through the grease. That gives me an idea. I focus my magicka into a ball of fire in my right hand, whirl around the corner and launch it at the hanging jar above the draugr.

The draugr turns to look at me as the jar falls, breaking open on its head. The once contained flame explodes outward, rushing over the oil now pouring over the draugr, and erupting upwards from the grease pool on the ground. The draugr tries to lumber towards me, but it is completely inundated by flames, and they bring it down before it can make it more than a few steps.

I hear more growls and footsteps from further ahead. That explosion seems to have attracted more attention. The next draugr charges blindly into the flaming pool of oil and succumbs quickly to the flames, but the one after that charges straight through undaunted. Clearly the magic empowering this one is stronger than that of the previous ones. I pour a jet of flame at it, which seems to slow it down a bit but does not stop it. Heart pounding in my throat, I retreat.

My mind is racing, looking for a solution, as the draugr pursues not far behind me. Suddenly, I have an idea. I run down a set of stairs and around a corner, hoping I can remember the way. Through an archway, around a corner, down a hallway, then I turn around and wait for the draugr to catch up. I see it turn the corner and focus its glowing blue eyes on me. It hefts its ancient greatsword in its hands, lowers it like a lance, and charges. I wait until the last possible second before throwing the lever.

The draugr shatters against the wall, caught by a rusty blade swinging down from the ceiling. I wait a few seconds to make sure it’s not getting up again, then push the lever back to stop the swinging blades. I take a moment to catch my breath and let my heart stop pounding, then go back to exploring the crypt.

These caverns are massive! I had no idea nordic burial crypts would encompass such an expansive series of caves and tunnels. It’s actually fortunate that some of the passages have caved in; the remaining routes are maze-like enough as it is without additional pathways making matters even more complicated. I find myself in another - or perhaps the same? - large open chamber crisscrossed by staircases and catwalks. At one end of it is an open area at the base of a wide set of stairs. At the top of the stairs is a barred archway, and at the center of the open area is a large rusty sarcophagus with what looks like a giant gear on each side of it.

Curious, I step forward to examine it. The gears are arched over the sarcophagus, roughly half of the circle buried in the ground, and on the sarcophagus next to each one is a strange divot, whose shape is eerily familiar, not-quite-round with an angular flattened bottom. Sitting atop the sarcophagus is what looks like a leather-bound journal, entitled _The Secrets of Ragnvald_. I open the journal.

_Two hero-hearts  
_ _Two hidden keys  
_ _One fallen priest  
_ _Who lies beneath_

It continues in verse like that, seeming to tell the story of a priest called Mad King Otar, and the heroes Saerek and Torsten who did something in Ragnvald to defeat him. It is rather more interested in poetic imagery than salient details, however, and after flipping back through it a few times, I’m not sure I gleaned anything useful from it. In any event, it doesn’t seem to make any mention of the Crusader’s Relics, metaphorical or otherwise, so it isn’t relevant to my purpose here. I set the journal back where I found it and move on.

I explore further into the cavern, dispatching a few draugr along the way, until finally I come upon something of interest. On a large rock jutting out of a pool of water lies a body which is clearly not a draugr. I approach cautiously, but it quickly becomes clear that she is dead. It is the body of an orc woman, clad in iron armor, and wearing a strange silver set of gauntlets. I perk up. This must be what I came for! I wonder how she found them? I look through her backpack to see if she kept a journal or some other clue as to her identity, and indeed, I find a journal marked Nikkhelottei - presumably her name. I flip to the most recent entry:

_It’s been days in this crypt. If it hasn’t, it feels like days. I’ve slept countless times, but with no sunlight I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Malacath guide me. If I knew of any other gods I’d pray to them, too. Maror? Is that one? I don’t care. I need guidance out of this place._

_I found them. I was bathing in a canal, listening for the walking corpses, when I was dazzled by something in the water. A pair of gauntlets, silver as Secunda, each with a ruby bigger than anything I’ve seen. I put them on and they made me feel strong, but light. I know I can get out of here now._

The arrows jutting from her back beg to differ. I sigh and shake my head. Never send an orc to do an elf’s job. I pluck the gauntlets from her hands, rinse them out in the pool of water, and slip them into my backpack. As I go to put her journal back in her pack, a folded piece of paper slips out of it. Curious, I open it up and read it:

_You are not alone._

_Go to Riverwood and seek the guidance I have struggled to give you. Go to the ruins near Rorikstead and in Winterhold’s college and find equipment that will aid you. Find the shards and fragments of our kingdom lost to time. The Gossip Stones are the last vestiges of truth._

_The fairies will guide you._

_No one alive knows the whereabouts of the Relics of Hyrule._

...Huh.

Well, this place is seriously creeping me out now. I pocket the journal and strange letter just in case and make for the exit as quickly as I can. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not done with this place, or maybe that it’s not done with me. I ignore it and make my way out of the caves and back out into the crisp mountain air of Skyrim. Squinting, I check the sun’s position. If I move fast, I should get back to Markarth just after nightfall.

I give a parting glance to the little floating ball of light, only to find that it isn’t there anymore. I suddenly wonder if it could be one of the “fairies” mentioned in that letter? Why do I think that? I take the letter out and read it again. I have no idea what “fairies”, “Gossip Stones”, or “Hyrule” are, but the more I think about it the more certain I become that that floating ball of light was a fairy. I don’t know how I could possibly know this. Far too many strange things are happening in far too rapid succession for my liking. For now I put it out of my mind and just focus on spending what little daylight I have left making as much progress back to Markarth as I can.


	4. Old Hroldan

After spending another night in the Silver-Blood Inn, I get some breakfast from the bar and sit by the fire, going over my notes while I eat. The next places to check are the Old Hroldan Inn, Fort Sungard, then Fort Greymoor, on the road to Whiterun. The Boots are said to be hidden in the basement of a tavern, and all the ones in major cities have been checked already, while the Mace is said to be in a fort near the border of three holds. The carriage will take me to Old Hroldan, then it’s not a hard walk from there to Fort Sungard, then to Fort Greymoor.

The carriage ride to Old Hroldan is uneventful. I have just gotten out when I hear a strange noise on the wind, from far away. I turn to the east and look up, squinting into the sun, trying to see if I can make out anything. The sound comes again, closer this time. It is hoarse, and drawn out, like the cry of some great beast echoing from a distance. The silhouette of a bird appears across the sun. It grows larger, quickly, and too late I realize it is not a bird at all. A jet of flame catches on my robes as I dive to the side, air rushing by me as the great beast swoops past, missing me by mere inches. The horse screams and bolts, dragging the carriage and its driver careening down the road in a panic.

No… That can’t really be...

The dragon - for that is, impossibly, what it is - turns in the air, letting out another roar, ear-splittingly close this time, before coming in to land on the roof of the inn. The entire building shakes with the force of its landing, and the roof buckles slightly beneath its weight. It takes in a breath.

“ _yol_ _TOR_ **_SHUUL!_ ** ”

A torrent of flame erupts from its mouth, charring the ground where I stood mere moments before. I fumble with my magic, trying to remember how to cast a shield spell in my left hand while preparing a gout of fire in my right. I let loose the flame, the best I can muster, and it seems as but a flickering candle next to the raging bonfire this beast produces. My fire licks over its scales and is gone, accomplishing nothing as far as I could tell. I held my own against a tomb full of draugr, but this dragon is clearly beyond me. And so I do the only thing I can do: I turn and run. As fast as my legs can carry me I run, not daring to look back, knowing it is my only hope for survival but at the same time hating myself for being so weak, for leaving that inn to be destroyed by a monster, for letting the gods down, for letting myself down. I am an _Altmer,_ gods dammit! I should _not_ be fleeing a battle with my tail between my legs! But with death as the obvious alternative, I run. I run and run and run until my calves burn and my lungs ache and I know I can’t go on, and then I run some more.

Finally I allow myself to stop, bending over with my hands on my knees. Everything hurts. Sweat drips into my eyes. My lungs greedily gulp for air. My heart thumps urgently in my throat. The rational part of my brain kicks in. _That can’t possibly have been a dragon_ , I think. _Dragons have been extinct for eons, if they were ever even real at all,_ I think. _It’s just a legend. A myth. Ancient history at best,_ I think. _Not. A present. Reality._ I think.

 _But that was a DRAGON_. I know.

How can there be a dragon? That’s the real question. Protesting its existence is pointless when it nearly killed me, the reality of it is clear enough. The question is not “if”, but “how?”

Didn’t I just hear something about dragons? I try to quiet the pounding of my heart and make myself think straight. No, not dragons, Dragonborn. One of the legends the bard sang about two days ago at the Winking Skeever mentioned a hero called the Dragonborn. Could that be a coincidence? The fact that she sang that song is, probably, but that Dragonborn legend must have _something_ to do with this dragon attack. Somehow. Right?

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and let it out slowly as I let myself straighten. I still have a job to do, and it hasn’t changed, dragon or no dragon. The Thalmor - and, it seems, the Divines themselves - have tasked me with retrieving the Crusader’s relics, and that’s what I’m going to do.

I allow myself a moment to puzzle at this, that the Thalmor and the Divines have both sent me for these relics, but the Thalmor sent me to destroy them, while the relics themselves are so obviously divine, the gods can’t possibly have their destruction in mind… Maybe the gods plan for me to resolve this misunderstanding? To reclaim these relics for true glory, and wipe clean the taint of Pelinal Whitestrake they have somehow been stained with? Or maybe the Divines have sanctioned their destruction, as only they could?

But only for a moment. Both the Thalmor and the Divines are just and good. I can trust them. My job is simply to collect the relics; when the Thalmor see them I know they will do the right thing.

I look around, trying to get my bearings. I seem to have run east, in the direction of Fort Sungard. It would be a much shorter walk to return to Old Hroldan, but who knows how long that dragon will be there, or whether anything will even be left when it leaves. It makes much more sense to continue east to the fort and come back for Old Hroldan later. This decided, I set out, slowly on my aching legs, and in just a few hours I see crenellated battlements cresting the hillside. As I get closer, I realize this is going to be more difficult than I thought. The fort is at the top of a series of cliffs. I consult my map again. It looks like I can either try to scale the rocky walls, or take the better part of the rest of the day circling around to approach from the northeast. I must admit, it’s a secure design for a fort. I sigh. There is no way I’m climbing anything after that prolonged sprint. What I really need right now is a rest and a good meal. But I resign myself to the walk, and set out.

The sun is touching the western peaks as I finally make my approach to the fort. It should be under Imperial control, and as I crest the rise leading up to the fort I see a man in Imperial armor manning a guard tower. Good. This should be easy then. As an agent of the Thalmor, technically I outrank any mere soldier in the Imperial army.

“Halt! Who goes there?” the soldier calls out.

“At ease, soldier. I am here on Thalmor business, let me pass.”

“Of course, ma’am” he snaps his heels together and puts his fist over his heart in salute, then returns to his post. I smile. He’s a good kid.

I head into the fort. The soldiers mostly take little notice of me, though I notice several nervous glances my way. I point to one of them at random. “You there, soldier!” She immediately tenses up. “I have been sent by the Thalmor to retrieve a holy relic. Have you noticed a silver-colored mace anywhere, or perhaps a stone chest with a strange enchantment on it?”

“Uh, yes” she stammers. “The fort has a small shrine to Kynareth, there is a stone chest there that may be the one you are looking for.”

“Thank you. After I check on the relic, I will need a meal and a place to stay for the night. That won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Yes ma’am. I mean no, ma’am, it won’t be a problem.”

“Good. Where is this shrine?” She gives me directions, and I take my leave. Are all soldiers so nervous around their superiors? Maybe it’s a human thing. If all their soldiers are such cowards it’s no wonder they lost the War. In any case, I’m not here to inspect legion decorum, I’m here to collect a relic. I enter the shrine and immediately see the chest, pushed up against a side wall. It looks identical to the chest I found in Solitude. I feel a twinge of worry, though I can’t place why. I shake it off and approach the chest.

I reach out, and just like in Solitude, my hand stops mere inches away from the chest. I consult my notes, confirming that the mace was made by Zenithar, before bowing my head and praying.

“ _Come to me, Zenithar, for without you, like a child, I might fiddle and fret when only through struggle and labor may I craft a work worthy of your name._ O divine crafter, I seek the power to retrieve your great work, that I may do with it what the Aedra have called me to do. Lend me your strength to open this chest and receive the relic within.”

I feel a warm swirling glow deep inside myself, and I try the chest again. This time, I am able to open it. Inside is a flanged mace, weathered and worn like the sword but equally bristling with power. Its haft and head are silvered steel, the handle iridescent sapphire with a brilliant cut ruby pommel stone to match the one on the sword. It has a simple leather thong and iron loop for hanging it from a belt, so I do. Both of the Crusader’s weapons and the Gauntlets are now in my possession. Satisfied, I head to the barracks for some food and rest.

~ ~ ~

In the night, the Forsworn attack.

I wake up to the sound of a bugle call, alerting the entire fort. At first I think it must be morning, but then I realize it is still dark outside. I see soldiers all around scrambling to put on their armor and grab weapons before running out the door to where the battle is. I groan. I am in no shape to deal with this. With a flash of memory I recall myself fleeing from the dragon, what a coward I felt. Wincing at the exertion, I get up, putting on my Thalmor robes. For some reason I feel compelled to strap on the Sword and Mace, and I also don the Gauntlets for good measure. I don’t know what good they will do since I do my fighting with magic, but it just feels right.

I hit myself with a healing spell for a few seconds to soothe my pains, then prepare a shield spell in my left hand and a flame spell in my right.

Let’s do this.

Nearly all the soldiers have left the barracks. I turn towards the door and make to join them.

Pain sears through me. I glance down in surprise, to see a bone blade erupting from my side. “The Reach belongs to the Forsworn!” yells a voice, as the blade is ripped back out of me. The room seems to spin around me. At some point I realize that I am on the ground, footsteps running around and over me. Mercifully, I pass out.

~ ~ ~

“Easy there, stay calm. You were hurt.” I feel the warm glow of a healing spell swirl over and through me. I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the light. A woman in Imperial armor is leaning over me, tending to me. I look around. I’m lying in a bed in a small wooden room. Next to the bed is a chair and a small circular table, and past the foot of the bed is a wardrobe and then an open doorway, through which I can hear a crackling hearthfire, and smell food and ale. Apparently I’m in an inn.

I try to sit up and the room spins. “Whoa, whoa, take it slowly. You were hurt pretty bad. I’ve been healing you up as best I can, but you’ll still need time and rest to fully recover. Magic only goes so far, especially when you’re a novice like me.” The woman gives a sheepish smile, and suddenly I recognize her. She’s the soldier who gave me direction to the shrine in Fort Sungard.

“I didn’t know Imperials were skilled with magic.” I say incredulously.

“I’m a Breton, actually.”

I feel dizzy. “You humans all look alike to me.” And then I pass out again.

When I wake up, the light streaming in through the windows is tinged with the orange of twilight. I’ve been here an entire day. This won’t do at all. I have a job to do, I can’t afford these kinds of delays. I close my eyes again. I brought this on myself, though. I need to be stronger if I’m going to survive in this barbaric land where violence lurks around every corner. I need to learn some new spells, and get better with the ones I already know.

“How are you feeling” comes the woman’s voice, a bit colder this time.

I sigh, then try to focus my magicka into a healing spell. It takes a lot of effort, but I manage to hold it for a few seconds. “Better”, I say, after releasing the spell. “Where am I?”

“The Frostfruit Inn in Rorikstead.” she replies.

“What happened?”

She hesitates, then replies. “We were overrun. The frontal assault was just a diversion to pull all our troops to the front lines while their real force snuck in through a sewer tunnel. They came right into the barracks without any resistance, and that’s where they found you. They put you down and swept right past you into the rest of the Fort. We couldn’t handle their numbers, not from inside and behind like that. We were routed. In the chaos I doubled back to the barracks and found you. I snuck us both out of the fort the same way the Forsworn snuck in, and carried you to the nearest town where I could tend to your wounds.”

I stay silent for several moments. “Why did you double back to the barracks?”

She hesitates again before replying. “I left something there. A family heirloom. It’s not important. I mean, it’s important to me, which is why I went back for it. I didn’t want to leave it in an occupied fort. It’s a good thing I did, or you would be dead.”

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, good work soldier. But I need to be getting back to my job.” I try to sit up again, but she pushes me down.

“Nuh uh. It’s about to get dark outside, you’re not going anywhere tonight. Let me tend to you until morning, then if you want to go off and get yourself killed again, I won’t stop you.”

I glare at her. “Remember your place, soldier.”

She sighs. “Yes, ma’am. Now rest.”

I lay my head back down. The room was starting to spin again anyway. She’s probably right, I need the rest. I close my eyes and drift back into unconsciousness.

When I wake the next morning, the woman is gone. It occurs to me I never even got her name. Oh well. I try to sit up, and a dull ache throbs through my side where I was stabbed, but there is no shooting pain and the room doesn’t spin, so that’s a good sign. I slowly get up, and walk out to the front counter. I order some breakfast, then try to recombobulate myself while I eat.

I got the Mace in Fort Sungard, so I don’t need to check Fort Greymoor. I never did check Old Hroldan, so I should probably double back there to make sure I didn’t miss one. Speaking of which, I ask the innkeeper, “Does this place have a basement?”

“No ma’am, this is all I’ve got right here.”

I nod, then change the subject. “Do you know where I could go to learn more about magic?”

He looks like he’s about to say something, then notices my Thalmor robes and thinks better of it. “The College of Winterhold is where you would go to learn serious magic. Other than that, you could check with any Jarl’s court wizard. The nearest would be Farengar in Whiterun.”

I thank him, pay for my meal, then gather my things and prepare to set out. Fortunately the woman who brought me here also brought my backpack. Most of the things in it are easily replaceable but my specific concern was for my mission file. I look over it and my map again, and determine that, even though it’s in the wrong direction, Old Hroldan is the closest location that might hold one of the relics, and I really should go back and check on it first. I’ve had some pretty good luck with finding relics so far, maybe it will hold up. I head outside.

It takes most of the day to walk all the way back to Old Hroldan, what with my injuries and giving Fort Sungard a wide berth. When I see it, my heart sinks. The southwestern wall and part of the southeastern wall are still standing, supporting a tiny section of roof, but the rest of the building is nothing but rubble and ash. The dragon is nowhere to be seen, fortunately, but neither is there any sign of survivors. Maybe they all got away safely and stayed that way, I lie to myself. With a heavy sigh, I start picking through the wreckage.

It’s not too long before it gets dark enough that I have to build a fire to keep working. I come upon two dead bodies, both burned to a crisp. I wonder briefly if the dragon got them directly, or if they died in the building fire. Then I throw up.

I soldier on, leaving the bodies, looking for any sign of a basement entrance. If this place does have a basement it clearly survived the onslaught as the ground seems unbroken. I realize that doesn’t bode well for me but I keep working anyway, sifting through ash, moving charred timbers, discarding burned remains of furniture.

Hours into the night, I finally conclude there is nothing here. The Boots are in the basement of an inn, and this inn doesn’t have a basement. I flop down near my fire, which is getting low now, and cry. This has been a disaster. I had an early run of luck and it made me complacent, I foolishly let myself think it would all be that easy. Why did they choose me for this job? I am weak and inexperienced, I am not cut out for adventuring all across Skyrim. I turn my face to the sky and cry out:

“Choose someone else!”

There is no answer. I add some more timber to the fire so it will stay warm through the night, then I roll out my bedroll under the one piece of roof that is still standing in case it rains. I lie down, toss and turn for a while, before finally drifting off to sleep.

~ ~ ~

**“... _Deziil los hin, Rahheken._ ”**


	5. Back to Solitude

The dawn light wakes me from a dream. I could swear it was a message, like the visions I’ve had my whole life, but this one was not accompanied by a headache. The aches in the rest of my body make up for it, though. I groan as I get to my feet. As always with my visions, I couldn’t understand this one, but it felt different somehow. I can’t put my finger on why, apart from the lack of headache.

As I am finishing packing up camp, someone runs up to me from the main road.

“I’ve been looking for you. Got something I’m supposed to deliver; your hands only.” He digs around in a leather satchel. “Let’s see here…” He pulls out a folded piece of parchment and a fancy envelope. “Got this letter, and an invitation. Looks like you’ve been invited to a party! That should be fun.” He hands them to me, then rifles around in his satchel some more. “Looks like that’s it. Got to go.” Then he takes off running back towards the main road.

I watch the courier run for a moment before I snap back into myself and look at the letters. The envelope is Thalmor Embassy stationery with gold-leaf trim, and inside is indeed an invitation with Elenwen’s stamp and signature on it. I look at the parchment that came with it.

_      Zelda _

_      It will soon be a week since you started your mission. It is time for you to return to the Embassy to give an update on your progress. As this happens to coincide with one of my high society parties, I would like you to attend so you can present your findings directly to the nobles there. Do NOT embarrass me. Return with something worth showing or be prepared to face the consequences. _

_      Elenwen _

Great. That is  _ just  _ fantastic. I sigh, and chide myself for being so negative. I have found three of the relics, I am sure this will go over just fine with Elenwen and her party guests. Nobody else has managed even one. I try to remind myself that I have done well so far, but with the way things have gone recently that is not how it feels. Well, nothing for it but to make my way back to Solitude.

It takes me about half the day to walk to Markarth from Old Hroldan, then I take a carriage the rest of the way to Solitude, arriving just after nightfall. I don’t feel like walking up the mountain road to the embassy in the dark, so I get a room at the Winking Skeever for the night.

The next morning I double check the date on the invitation and find that the party is not until tomorrow night. I have all of today and most of tomorrow to spend in Solitude. There is no question how I am going to spend that time: studying magic. Recent events have made it abundantly clear that if I am going to continue this mission, I need to be stronger. I recall what the innkeeper in Rorikstead said about court wizards, so I make my way towards the Blue Palace.

On the way, a sign catches my eye. Just before the palace is a large gate with a sign hanging over it, proclaiming to be “The Dragonborn Gallery”. Curious, I try the gate. It’s unlocked, so I head in and up the stairs. Unfortunately there is a notice on the front door saying “Closed For Renovations”. I make a mental note to come back and check on this later, and continue on to the Blue Palace.

When I get there, Jarl Elisif is holding court, and I know better than to interrupt. A fellow Altmer is performing some type of speech for the court, something about an ancient king who was really a dragon in disguise. It’s an interesting tale to be sure, but some of it seems rather farfetched. Glancing around the room, I notice that one of the attendees - a blond wood elf - is not dressed in finery like the others, but is instead wearing a rather ridiculous green and white outfit with a green hat and bits of leather armor. He has a lute slung across his back, so he must be a bard of some kind. Maybe the outfit is part of his act? I don’t know.

The speech ends, and Jarl Elisif is apparently very impressed by it. She agrees to grant the man’s request - I missed what it was - as well as offer a payment of patronage to the Bards’ College. He thanks her profusely, then takes his leave. I take this opportunity to approach the court wizard.

“Excuse me, hello. My name is Zelda.”

“Sybille Stentor, court wizard. How can I help you?”

“Yes, I am a student of the mystic arts, and I was wondering if you could teach me?”

“Hmm…” she responds. “I have a few minutes now, but then I must get back to court business. I have more time this evening, if you would like to meet me for training then? And I can give you some books to study in the meantime. Of course, none of this will be free, can you pay?”

I nod and retrieve a handful of septims from my coin purse. She picks through them and says “Yes, this should be enough. Let me get the books, give me a moment” and she walks off to a back room. She returns with a small stack of spellbooks. “Here, read through these and practice with them today. Meet me here tonight and I will help you master them.” I nod and thank her and head back to the Winking Skeever.

I get myself a table and start poring over the books. Two of them are from the Destruction school, two are from the Alteration school, and one is from the Restoration school. With these I should be able to learn some ice and lightning magic, a light spell and a basic armor spell, and a stronger healing spell. With no time to waste, I dive in.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, you’ve been here most of the day, you want a drink or something?”

I glance up from my reading, snapping back into myself. I blink a few times and notice the innkeeper standing over me. I catch up to what he just said and reply “Oh! Yes, please, a glass of wine, and something hot to eat as well.” He nods and heads back behind the bar while I close my eyes and stretch. I glance out the window. It’s not yet dusk, but definitely late afternoon. My but time does fly while reading something interesting! The innkeeper brings me a steak and a baked potato with my glass of wine. I thank him and pay him and go back to reading while I eat.

I have always loved studying magic. The energy, the power of life, bent and formed into various shapes, causing all manner of different things to happen. Many Altmer find the whole thing rather blasé, and I know many Nords find it scary or bizarre, but I just find the whole thing fascinating! It also helps that I have a natural talent for it, being born under the sign of the Mage.

I end up getting lost in the books again, and by the time I finish eating the sun is nearly down, the last rays of twilight just peeking in through the windows. When I notice this I quickly pack up the books and head for the Blue Palace.

On the way, I hear the sounds of a crowd gathering, and a voice shouting, “Welcome, people of Solitude!” Curious, I follow the sound to a large courtyard just off the road on the way to the Blue Palace. The voice continues, “We of the Bards’ College are pleased to be here to celebrate the Burning of King Olaf!”

At the center of the courtyard is a large straw-and-burlap effigy of a king hanging from a tall pole. Lots of people are standing around the courtyard, some of them selling sweets and meat pies and spiced wine while most are milling around enjoying the festivities. Standing next to the effigy is the man who is speaking, the same Altmer who gave the recitation at the Blue Palace this morning. Standing next to him is the blond wood elf in the green outfit with the lute on his back.

He continues, “The festival would not have been possible without the dedication and hard work of our latest applicant.” He steps forward and uses a torch to set the effigy on fire. “With the lighting of the effigy, he becomes a full-fledged member of the Bards’ College. Please welcome our newest bard!” The crowd applauds, and I applaud as well, why not. But I can’t stay and enjoy the festival, I have an appointment to keep, so I leave the crowd to their festivities and continue to the Blue Palace.

“Ah, Zelda, welcome back.” Wizard Stentor is waiting for me. “Come with me, the Palace is no place to be slinging spells to and fro. We’ll use the training grounds at Castle Dour.”

I follow her across town to Castle Dour. As we pass by the Burning of King Olaf Festival, I lock eyes for just a moment with the wood elf in the green outfit. I feel something stir within me, and then the moment is passed and I am walking toward Castle Dour again.

What  _ was  _ that?

No matter. Wizard Stentor and I reach the training grounds and immediately dive into practicing the spells I learned from the books she sold me. The light spell is the easiest, I have that mastered in mere minutes. The others take more time. We work late into the night, and by the time we are done I am almost as good with ice magic as I am with fire magic, I can manage a decent bolt of lightning and a passable armor spell, and my healing magic is much improved.

“You’re a natural, my dear. I don’t think I’ve ever had a student learn so quickly. I would love to continue but I must be getting back to the Palace. Do keep practicing on your own, I’m sure you’ll have these spells mastered in no time.” I thank Wizard Stentor very much for her help, tip her a few extra septims, then head for the Winking Skeever to get a good night’s rest.

~ ~ ~

In the morning I hit the books again over breakfast, wanting to make sure I get as much out of them as I possibly can, not letting anything go to waste. Something catches my eye, but I ignore it and keep reading. When I look up to take a bite of food, it grabs my attention again. The third time I give in and allow myself to be distracted for a moment. It’s just two wood elves talking in a corner. Why is that catching my attention? I am about to go back to the books when I realize that one of them is Malborn! What is he doing away from the embassy? He must be on an assignment of some kind. Based on their posture and hushed tones, it must be a secret assignment. I’d like to go say hello but I know better than to interrupt a clandestine meeting like that one when Thalmor business is involved. We’ll just have to catch up later, maybe before the party tonight. I go back to my books.

A little while later, I notice them get up to leave. I can’t help but glance up at them, and find that I recognize the other wood elf! It’s the new bard, the one who wore the ridiculous green outfit! I didn’t recognize him at first because today he’s wearing a simple belted tunic instead, but the blond hair should have tipped me off. What business does he have with Malborn? I push the question from my mind. It doesn’t pay to be curious about Thalmor business. If I need to know, I will be told.

I finish my meal, pack up my books, and head to the Castle Dour courtyard. I spend the rest of the day practicing my new spells, getting to the point where I can easily switch between them at will, drilling what Wizard Stentor taught me until it becomes second nature. I make good progress, though I feel I could still use some more practice when I notice the sun is dipping low in the sky and it’s time to head for Elenwen’s party.


	6. The Party

What to wear, what to wear? I am standing in my room at the embassy, holding a fancy dress in one hand and my Thalmor robes in the other. Will I be expected to wear my uniform? Or should I be dressing up for the party? Elenwen was busy with preparations when I arrived and I know how she hates being interrupted, so I was unable to simply ask. In the end I decide to go with the uniform, but forgo the hood so I can accentuate the outfit with some jewelry: simple gold loop earrings, a gold and sapphire amulet, and a gold and sapphire circlet. I also have one of the servants put my long brown hair back in a double fishtail braid. I smile as I admire myself in a mirror. This will do.

I am not the first to arrive at the party, but I am early. I don’t bring the relics with me, seeing no unobtrusive way to carry them in a crowd. I figure I can go get them when it is time to present them. I take a goblet of wine from a serving tray and take up a position in a back corner, where I can see the entire room. I take occasional sips as I watch guests slowly filter in and begin to mingle. I have never been much of a social butterfly, but I do so love to people-watch.

Everyone is wearing such fancy clothes! The outfits and jewelry on display here are quite impressive for Skyrim, though they pale in comparison to the high-society parties I attended as a noble in Alinor. Fortunately another Thalmor agent is in attendance wearing his uniform, as is Elenwen herself, so I seem to have made the right call. I allow myself a small sigh of relief, then continue people-watching. One woman carries herself as though everyone and everything she sees is beneath her; a ridiculous attitude for a human to have. Another woman seems to drift through the party aimlessly, as though her thoughts are entirely occupied elsewhere. A red haired dark elf the size of an orc appraises everything he sees with the trained eye of a collector. One man seems to have no shame in openly showing his attraction for one of the wood elf serving girls, and she is trying to subtly communicate that she wants nothing to do with him without causing a scene, but he is oblivious.

The party is well under way when I hear the door open again. Someone is arriving late. I look toward the door. It’s two someones: a dark haired human I’ve never seen before, and that damned blond wood elf again! What is _he_ doing here!? He is wearing fancy clothes that don’t fit him very well, and he does not carry himself like he comes from money. Either he came into his fortune quite recently, or something very strange is going on here. Elenwen steps up to greet him.

“Welcome. I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are...?”

He gives a big smile and a bigger bow. “My name is Link. Pleased to meet you.”

Elenwen nods. “Ah yes. I remember your name from the guest list. Please, tell me about yourself. What brings you to this…” she scoffs, “to Skyrim?”

To my great surprise, Malborn cuts in.

“Madame Ambassador, I’m so sorry to interrupt…”

Elenwen glares at him. “What is it, Malborn?”

“It’s just that we’ve run out of the Alto wine. Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red-”

“Of course!” Elenwen barks, “I’ve told you before not to bother me with such trifles!”

“Yes, Madame Ambassador.”

Elenwen seems rather ruffled, but composes herself. “My apologies,” she says to Link, “We’ll have to get acquainted later. Please, enjoy yourself.” She then returns to the party. Link and Malborn glance around the room, then have a brief whispered conversation.

Very strange indeed…

After whatever that was with Malborn, Link begins mingling with the other guests. Eventually he makes his way over to my corner. He sidles up next to me.

“Hello there,” he says with a smile.

“Hello,” I say, not looking at him. I take a sip of wine.

“I think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Link. What’s your name?”

“Zelda,” I say flatly, still not looking at him.

“Not much for parties, are you?” he asks.

“Depends on the party,” I reply dryly, swishing the wine in my goblet. _What is his deal?_

There is an awkward silence for a moment, then I decide to turn the tables on him.

“So, how do you know Malborn?”

“Oh, you know. We have a mutual friend.” He grins.

“And what brings you to this party?”

“How could I miss this? Best view in Skyrim, right here.” He winks.

 _Oh my god, is he flirting with me?_ Much to my chagrin I feel myself blushing. _That wasn’t even a good line, what is wrong with me?_

I clear my throat. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Enjoy the party.” And as quickly as I can without actually running, I move to a different corner. On my way, Elenwen stops me.

“Zelda, good, you’re here. I trust you have something to show for your efforts?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer, caught off guard. “I have three of the relics, they’re in my room.”

“Well then go get them and bring them here. It’s time to present your findings.”

“Yes, Madame Ambassador.” I bow and quickly head up to my room, returning a few minutes later with the Sword and Mace and Gauntlets. I also bring the mission file, in case there are any questions.

When Elenwen sees me arrive, she moves to the center of the room. “Attention, everyone! Attention! I have a presentation for you! One of our newest agents has something she would like to share with you!” She motions for me to come to the center of the room, and so I do.

I never like being the center of attention, but as a noble you have to learn to live with it. “Hello everyone. So, I have been sent on a mission to recover a set of eight relics connected to Pelinal Whitestrake and the Knights of the Nine. For those of you who are unaware, Pelinal Whitestrake was an anti-elven crusader in the first era, and the Knights of the Nine are, as their name would imply, strongly connected to the Talos cult. These relics were hidden from us at the end of the Great War, and so far no one has been able to find them. Until now.”

I draw the sword and hold it above my head. “Behold, the Sword of the Crusader!” The sword almost seems to glow with holy light, the magic in it crackling almost visibly. “And the Mace of the Crusader!” I lower the Sword and lift the Mace aloft, it also nearly buzzing with aedric energy. “And the Gauntlets of the Crusader!” I lower the mace and lift the Gauntlets above my head.

“Well, actually,” comes a deep voice from just behind me. “Those aren’t the Gauntlets of the Crusader.” I turn to look at who is speaking; it’s the red haired dark elf I noticed earlier. “Those are the Silver Gauntlets, a relic of Hyrule. They predate Pelinal Whitestrake by thousands of years.”

“I… but… they… what?” I stammer, my hands lowering in confusion.

He steps forward and takes the Gauntlets, showing them to me. “You see these markings here? The way the trim follows the knuckles like this? The way the gems are set into the back of the hand? It’s all clearly indicative of Hylian workmanship, and nearly identical to the Golden Gauntlets I found myself near a week ago. Your other two relics are clearly silver-plated steel, while these are solid silver all the way through, I would stake my fortune on it. An impressive find,” he gives a condescending smile, “but not the one you were looking for.”

It’s a long moment before I realize my jaw is hanging open. I close it, blushing fiercely, then he gives a dramatic bow. “Lord Dragmire, at your service. I own Proudspire Manor in Solitude, and I fancy myself something of an archaeologist. I collect relics and artifacts from every age and era, but I have a special interest in the ancient civilization of Hyrule, which is why these gauntlets immediately caught my eye. I am in talks with the Dragonborn Gallery to perhaps showcase my findings, I would be honored if you would allow me to add these Silver Gauntlets to the display?”

Mortified, I can only nod, and he slips the gauntlets into his pocket. “Do excuse the interruption,” he says with another bow, “Enjoy the rest of the party.” After a few moments, the party seems to resume, as it becomes clear that my presentation is over. Elenwen is almost immediately dragged into a conversation, but she manages to shoot me a dangerous glare anyway. Completely humiliated, I retreat to my room.

How did I not realize those were the wrong gauntlets!? They weren’t bursting with aedric energy like the Sword and the Mace were, they weren’t in an enchanted chest, and that orc who found them, I recall in her journal she prayed to _Malacath_ \- a _Daedra_ \- and could only remember one of the Divines whose name she got wrong. There is no way such a heathen could ever have recovered a true Divine Relic. What was I thinking!? Stupid s’wit. I should be better than this.

I am staring out my window at nothing when something catches my eye. Movement in the courtyard down below. I look down. Just a guard patrolling, nothing unusual. Wait. More movement, and a flash of green. I lean forward and squint. I think someone is sneaking around out there. A few moments later they catch my eye again. Yes, someone is definitely sneaking around down there. Someone who knows how not to be seen - the only reason I can is because of my high vantage point, no one on the ground would be able to spot them. I look closer. They are wearing a ridiculous green and white outfit with matching hat and bits of leather armor.

_Son of a netch._

How did he change his outfit? _Why_ did he change his outfit? How did he get into the courtyard without anyone seeing? Why is he sneaking around? What is he even doing here? _Who IS he!?_

Determined to get answers, I head downstairs to follow him. I shouldn’t have to do too much sneaking; as an agent of the Thalmor I’m allowed to go most places in the embassy. I should be careful not to attract too much attention, however, as I’m technically still supposed to be at the party, and while retreating to my room for a few minutes is probably fine, skulking around the embassy is probably less so.

By the time I get out into the courtyard, that wood elf is nowhere to be seen. Of course, that doesn’t mean anything, he could still be hiding here somewhere. It doesn’t matter though; the embassy only has two buildings, if he left one of them for the courtyard he could only be heading to the other one. I make my way over there, only to find the door to the other building is guarded. The guard is standing right in front of the door, so it’s very unlikely he made it in there, but if he did… Damn, the guard’s seen me. I suppose I could just turn around, walk back the way I came, give up on what I came here for. I certainly can’t just stand here awkwardly waiting for something to happen. The guard fills the silence.

“Why aren’t you at your post?”

 _Think fast._ “Elenwen wanted to meet with me, she told me to wait for her in here.”

“Why didn’t you say so? Go ahead then.” He opens the door for me and I step through.

Right on my tail is that damn wood elf. He slips through the door behind me, somehow evading the guard’s gaze, and gives me a wink and smile while putting a finger to his lips before ducking down a hallway, and he’s gone.

I should alert the guards. There is absolutely no good reason not to raise an alarm right now, get that intruder found and captured and make him explain himself. But I don’t. I can’t say for sure why I don’t, but I feel… something. Something tells me that I should be helping him do whatever it is he is trying to do. Curse him. I’ll probably be exiled for this. I hear someone talking in the other room. I duck down the same hallway the wood elf took, and listen.

“But I need that money! I earned it! I have my own expenses you know...”

“Silence!” I recognize Rulindil as the second voice. “Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do not presume. We have other informants who are less… offensive.”

“But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they? Etienne, he’s talked, hasn’t he? He knows where that old man is you’re looking for, he told me himself.”

“You’ll get the rest of your money when we confirm his story. As agreed.”

“So he has talked! I knew it!”

“Everyone talks, in the end. Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if ever you want to see the rest of your payment.”

“Can I… I could help you. He’d talk to me. He trusts me.”

“You’d like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur? Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you’d like, and see how he answers.”

“No, no. I’ll… I’ll wait outside.”

“That would probably be best. Now get out!”

I hear footsteps, followed by a mumbled, “He can’t treat me like that. He needs me!” Gissur walks past me and out the front door, while Rulindil’s footsteps seem to take him downstairs. I hear a door open, then shut. I am about to follow when the front door opens again, and in walks Elenwen and the guard, followed by the other Thalmor agent who was at the party.

“So, you didn’t tell her to meet you here?” the guard asks. _Crap._

“No, I most certainly did not. But I do want to talk to her. Maybe she is trying to curry favor by foreseeing my wishes and complying ahead of time. Admirable. It won’t work, but admirable nonetheless.”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” the agent who was at the party speaks up. “She did recover two of the relics, that’s more than any other agents have managed.”

“Don’t worry, I will leave her capable of recovering the other relics, but only just. She was shown up at my own party by a _dark elf!_ That embarrassment must be reprimanded!”

There is a brief pause, then the agent speaks up again. “What do you plan to do with the relics she has collected?”

“Why, destroy them, of course. They carry the taint of heresy.”

“But, you saw them same as I did. They are clearly of Divine making. Do you really-”

“Hang the Divines!” Elenwen snaps. I barely keep myself from gasping. “The Knights of the Nine fought against us in the Great War, they preach the Talos heresy, they uphold the anti-elven legacy of Pelinal Whitestrake. They. Must. Be. Wiped. Out. These relics are all that remains of their pitiful cult and I don’t care if each one was personally crafted by the Gods themselves, they. Will. Be. Destroyed! Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Madame Ambassador,” the agent replies, chastised.

“Now where is that woman I want to hurt something,” Elenwen grumbles menacingly.

Well. Time to go.


	7. Escape

Quickly and quietly as I can, I make my way further along the hallway and down the stairs. Very carefully, I open the door without making a sound and slip into the basement after Rulindil and, presumably, Link. I don’t know how long it will be before Elenwen realizes I am not upstairs and comes down here to look for me, but this building isn’t all that big so probably not long. I need to get out of here. With a jolt of realization, I check myself, then sigh with relief. I still have the relics and my mission file on me from when I brought them down to the party. I don’t remember putting them on, but apparently I did, and it’s a good thing, too, because there would be no going back for them now. All of my travelling gear and other clothes are lost, but those can be replaced later. Fortunately, being a noble means I have no shortage of money, though I am running low on loose change. I’ll need to stop by the Solitude exchangers on my way out to pick up some more septims. That is if Elenwen hasn’t put a price on my head before I can get there. Better move fast.

After slipping through the door I find myself on a landing above the basement proper. In the room below, Rulindil sits at a desk, taking notes, while a Thalmor soldier “interrogates” a shackled human with the business end of a mace. That must be Etienne that Gissur mentioned. He must have done something pretty bad to get himself chained up and tortured like that. I don’t even want to know.

Rulindil is asking questions about some old man who lives in Riften, and Etienne is answering weakly. I’m a bit too preoccupied with looking for a way out and trying not to get caught to pay much attention to what they’re actually saying. Looking around the room from the landing I see Link cautiously approaching Rulindil from behind. I stay deathly silent as I watch him open a chest next to Rulindil and take out some papers. He is just starting to look through them when the door opens right next to me. I freeze, not even daring to breathe. Malborn comes in, escorted by two Thalmor soldiers in full elven armor. The opened door is between me and them, hiding me from their sight. For now.

One of the soldiers speaks up. “Listen up, spy! You’re trapped in here, and we have your accomplice. Surrender immediately or you both die.”

“Never mind,” Malborn mumbles despondently, “I’m dead already-”

“Silence, traitor! Move. Slowly.”

Rulindil looks up from his papers, just in time for Link to pull out a dagger and slit his throat. So I guess we’re doing it that way then.

“Malborn, run!” I yell, and kick one of the soldiers as hard as I can in the back of the knee. She goes down, hard, as I shoot a burst of ice at the other one. Malborn runs.

Link sheathes his dagger and draws a sword and shield from his back. I ready a shield spell in my left hand and start with ice in my right, ready to switch it up as needed. I tuck and roll past the soldiers, blasting ice as I come to my feet. I aim low, hoping to freeze up the joints in their leg armor and possibly slow them down. I hear the sound of metal on metal as Link engages the mace-wielding soldier downstairs.

“I don’t want to hurt you! We just want to leave!” I say to the soldiers, not really expecting it to work. It doesn’t, of course, and a sword swings down at me, its wielder crying out “Traitor!” I block with my shield, charge my other spell for a moment, then launch an ice spike right at her face. It hits, hard, and she staggers back in pain. I run down the stairs after Malborn. When I get down there Link has already dispatched the soldier he was fighting and is freeing Etienne. “Don’t bother with him, we need to go!” I yell frantically.

Link gives me a look that seems angry for some reason before opening the last shackle and helping Etienne to his feet. “Thank you,” he says weakly, “Come on, this way. There’s a trap door. I’ve seen the guards use it to get rid of bodies, it must lead somewhere.”

“I’ll hold them off, you three get out of here!” Link says, passing Etienne over to Malborn and handing him a key. “I found this on the guard, it probably goes to that trap door.”

“I’ll help you,” I say, standing next to him with my spells ready.

He looks my uniform up and down. “And, why exactly are you helping me fight Thalmor soldiers?”

I shrug. “Well, Elenwen wants to torture me and destroy the weapons of my Gods, so, you could say we’re not each other's’ biggest fans right now.” The other two soldiers make it down the stairs and come for us. “We’ll talk about it later,” I say quickly, and shoot a bolt of fire at one of them. Link simply nods and charges in, sword swinging.

It doesn’t take long. All my practice paid off, and Link is amazing with that sword and shield of his. We make quick work of the guards, then head down through the trap door.

We find ourselves in a mossy cave, with a tunnel leading deeper in. I have no idea where it goes but it’s the only way forward, so we follow it. After a ways the tunnel opens up onto a ledge overlooking a large cavern. Something smells awful. He did say they disposed of bodies down here.

I peek over the ledge. I do see a couple skeletons, and what looks like a fresh body as well.

And also a Frost Troll.

“So that would be how the bodies get disposed of, then,” I mutter. “I doubt we’ll all be able to sneak past that thing. We’ll probably have to fight our way out.” I glance up just in time to see Link jumping over the edge, sword in hand and a smile on his face. As he falls he turns to me and winks.

Really? Wow. Okay then. I follow.

The troll hears our boots hit the ground and turns to look at us, its three eyes blinking hungrily. It rears back and lets out a roar, and I take the opportunity to pour a gout of fire at it. Link runs in, sword slashing, while I keep the flames licking up and down its body. I keep myself well back out of its reach; it takes a few swings at Link, but he blocks them expertly with his shield. While we’re keeping it occupied, Malborn helps Etienne climb down the ledge and hobble deeper into the cave. There seems to be light coming from around a corner back there, so maybe that is, in fact, the way out.

“Link!” I yell, “Let’s just get out of here! I don’t think we can kill this thing!” He nods, slashes at its legs in a last ditch effort to slow it down, then turns and runs after Malborn. I do the same. Indeed, just around the corner at the back of the cavern is a way out. We get out and turn to face the entrance, just in case the troll comes after us, but it sounds like it’s staying inside. I breathe a sigh of relief. Malborn isn’t as pleased.

“Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life! I hope it was worth it.”

I give him a look. “Join the club, Malborn. I’ve been nothing but loyal to the Thalmor, and now Elenwen wants my head on a spike. You’re not the only one who gave up everything.” I turn to Link. “Just what exactly did we give up everything for?”

He holds up the documents he pilfered from Rulindil. “I came here to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons returning. Turns out, they don’t know anything.”

I explode. “I could have told you that! I was nearly killed by a dragon a few days ago and I thought they were extinct, or a myth! Why didn’t you just ask?”

He looks at me incredulously. “Oh, yeah, I totally knew I could trust you before just now,” his voice drips with sarcasm. “You’re a Thalmor agent, and not even that high ranking of one. Even if I knew I could trust you, do you really think that if the Thalmor were behind the dragons coming back they would have told you?”

That cools me off a bit. The Thalmor do love their secrets; everything is on a need to know basis. Just because I didn’t know anything about the dragons doesn’t mean Elenwen or Rulindil didn’t, though that does in fact seem to be the case. I sigh. “So, what are you doing now?”

Link holds up the documents again. “I need to get these to Delphine. Hopefully she’ll find something useful in them, since they’re all we got out of this mess.”

“Who’s Delphine?” I ask.

“Don’t answer that!” Malborn cuts in. “Just because she’s on Elenwen’s bad side doesn’t mean she’s joined our cause. We don’t know for sure that we can trust her.”

I’m about to protest, but he’s not exactly wrong. For that matter, I don’t really know I can trust them, either. “You’re right, Malborn. We have a mutual enemy, but that doesn’t make us allies. I don’t know what you’re doing or if I can support you, and you don’t know what I’m doing or if you can support me. But even if we aren’t allies, maybe we can be friends? I feel like we were heading that way back at the embassy, was I wrong?”

He wavers a bit, then admits, “No, you’re not wrong. Okay, we can be friendly. If you’re ever in Windhelm, look me up, that’s where I’ll be hiding out. The Nords of Eastmarch have no love of the Thalmor, I think I’ll be safe there. I’d suggest you come with me, but we’ll probably attract less attention if we travel separately. Wherever you go, I hope you stay safe.” He turns to Link. “Get those to Delphine as quickly as you can. We need to know this wasn’t all for nothing. Find me in Windhelm when you get a chance.” And with that, he takes off into the snow. Etienne is nowhere to be seen, apparently having slipped away during that conversation.

Link turns to me, “So, what are you going to do?”

I sigh, then tug at the mace on my belt. “I guess I’m going to look for the rest of these. The Thalmor want to destroy them but I know they’re meant to be protected, and somehow I guess it’s my job to protect them.” I pause, then continue. “I’m not sure I want to do that alone, though. At least, not until the heat from the Thalmor dies down a bit. Do you mind if we travel together? Where are you headed?”

“Riverwood,” Link answers, then winces like he wishes he hadn’t.

“Riverwood…” I pull the map out of my mission file. “That’s not one of the major cities. Is there an inn there?”

“Yes…” Link answers slowly.

“And does it have a basement?”

“.....yyyeeeessss……?” Link is very hesitant with that answer.

I fold the map closed. “Good. Then I’m coming with you. One of the relics is supposed to be in the basement of an inn, so I might as well check that one next. We can watch each other’s backs along the way. We should stop in Solitude first before word gets to the guards there; I need to exchange some money and buy some new travelling gear. Everything I own is back in the embassy, and there's no way we're going back for it.”

Link sighs. “Fine. But make it fast.”


	8. Riverwood

I walk away from the exchangers with a hefty bag of septims. Link looks astonished.

“How much did you get?” he asks, mouth agape.

“Five thousand septims, in assorted denominations. Why?”

He gibbers for a moment, then says “How in the world did you get them to give you that much!? You could buy a house with that! I thought everything you owned was in the embassy!”

“It is, but luckily I never take off my signet ring.” I show him the gold ring around my middle finger. “It has my family’s seal on it. When you’re of noble blood, most transactions are done with credit, as everyone knows you’re good for it. Usually I carry letters of credit I can exchange for coin, but I left all of those with my things at the embassy. Fortunately, my ring works just as well, though it requires a bit of extra paperwork. I wasn’t sure when I would next have the chance to exchange money, so I figured I’d best get enough to last a good while.” Link just stares at the bag in disbelief. I smile in amusement. All of this is commonplace to me, it’s easy to forget that it isn’t so for everyone.

“So!” I say, hefting the bag. “Shopping?”

~ ~ ~

Soon afterwards, we are leaving Solitude, me with a few new outfits and a backpack and a full spread of travelling gear. I would have liked to have spent more time on getting clothes, but Link kept me cognizant of the fact that the Thalmor could be after us at any moment, so reluctantly I made haste. I kept my Thalmor uniform, currently bundled up in my pack, just in case, but I doubt I will be wearing it again unless something very peculiar comes up.

I was expecting a long and perilous journey, but it turns out Riverwood is one of the carriage stops, so we can ride the whole way there. I pay the driver extra, telling him not to stop for anything, then take my seat next to Link. We ride in silence for a few minutes before I ask, “So, who are you? Really?”

“I’m Link,” he replies simply. I roll my eyes.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

“Valenwood,” he says, looking uncomfortable.

“What are you doing in Skyrim?”

“Looking for my family. Though, I’ve gotten a little sidetracked…” He stares off into the distance for a while, then turns to me. “Where are you from?”

“Alinor,” I reply.

“You mean the Summerset Isles?” he counters. I bristle.

“That’s its old name,” I say coldly.

“Oh come on,” Link laughs, nudging me with an elbow. “The Thalmor are trying to kill you, are you really going to be a stickler for their naming conventions?”

I pause at that. He does make a good point. My whole life I’ve been loyal to the Thalmor, believed in them, believed they were on the side of the Gods. This business with Elenwen may require that I rethink more than just my current mission. I may have been living on the wrong side of history this whole time.

I shake my head. No, that can’t be right. Elenwen is the problem, not the Thalmor as a whole. She has power, and she is misusing that power, but that doesn’t make the power itself bad, right? There’s a nagging doubt at the back of my mind but I quash it. Everything I’ve been taught my entire life can’t be wrong. Elenwen is the one to blame here.

I sigh, then turn the question back at him. “You seem to be no friend to the Thalmor. What did they ever do to you?”

His face falls, and he stares off into the distance again for a while. Finally, he answers.

“I was just a baby when the Aldmeri Dominion swept through Valenwood at the beginning of the Great War. It was a massacre, thousands dead. I don’t even know for sure if my family made it out.”

I scoff. “Oh come on, it can’t have been all that bad. Besides, I read about those battles, they were only killing humans. Your family can’t have been a target. Why would they flee?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his jaw tightens. Clearly it’s a sore subject. We ride in awkward silence for what feels like hours before Link speaks up again. “So, what are you doing in Skyrim? Job transfer?”

“Sort of,” I answer. “I didn’t actually work for the Thalmor back in Alinor. My family supported them, but I wasn’t an agent. The thing is, I suffered from strange dreams. I believe now that they are messages from the Divines, but back then I didn’t know what they were, all I knew is that they hurt and I wanted them gone. I went to the best healers money could buy, but nobody could tell what was happening. Somebody’s divining must have turned up something, however - maybe some scrap of prophecy - for they decided to send me here to search for the Relics of the Crusader. When I found the first one, I had a waking vision very similar to my dreams. I think it is my destiny to collect these relics for the Divines. The Thalmor wanted to destroy them, but I believed that they would reconsider when they saw that they truly were holy relics and not things of heresy. Unfortunately, Elenwen had no such change of heart. She planned to have the Sword and Mace destroyed, and me tortured for the embarrassment with the gauntlets.”

“What happened with that? I was too busy sneaking out while everyone was distracted to actually see your presentation.”

I cringe. “I’d really rather not relive it. Suffice to say, the gauntlets I found were not the gauntlets I was looking for, and Elenwen was severely displeased with how that came to light.”

Another awkward silence. After a while I speak up again.

“So who’s this Delphine?”

Link hesitates, then replies, “A mutual friend of mine and Malborn’s.”

“And what’s her interest in the dragons?”

“I’d think everyone would be interested in the dragons coming back, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but why does she-”

“Look,” Link says seriously, “I can’t talk to you about this. The Thalmor might not like you very much right now, but it’s clear that you still support them. I can’t risk word getting back to them about… what we’re doing. So let’s just drop it, okay?”

We ride in silence again until we both drift off to sleep.

~ ~ ~

I wake up the next morning with my head resting against Link’s shoulder. I sit up quickly, blushing furiously. I check to see if he is awake, and he grins at me. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” My blush deepens to crimson. He points ahead. “We’re almost there.”

I look where he’s pointing, and I can see the little town in the distance, just over a small bridge. It’s little more than four houses and a lumber mill by the look of it, though there may be more to it I just can’t see from this angle. The carriage takes us over the bridge and right up to the edge of town. I thank the driver with a generous tip, then follow Link into the inn.

A human woman in leather armor walks up to Link. “You made it out alive, at least. Your gear is safe in my room, as promised. Did you… wait, who is this?” she asks, seeming just now to notice me.

“She’s a friend. Helped me escape the embassy, in fact,” Link says.

“My name is Zelda,” I say. “Is this your inn?”

“Mine and Orgnar’s. Why do you ask?”

“May I see your basement?”

She narrows her eyes. “What makes you think we have a basement?”

I look at Link, confused. He seems chagrined. “I told her,” he admits reluctantly.

I put my hand up before the woman can protest. “I don’t know what the lot of you are up to and I don’t care. You don’t have to worry about me, I’m just looking for something that’s supposed to be in the basement of an inn. It’s a holy relic that was smuggled into Skyrim thirty years ago, probably in an enchanted stone chest.”

The woman who must be Delphine crosses her arms. “Well everything that’s in my basement I put there myself, and none of it is a holy relic or a stone chest. Was there anything else I can help you with?” she asks tersely. I shake my head. “Good, then there’s nothing further to discuss.” She turns to Link. “Come with me, we need to talk,” she glances back at me, “in private.” I take the hint and go take a seat at the bar while they head into a side room.

I turn to the bartender. “Orgnar, is it?” He grunts. “What’s your wine selection like?”

He looks at me from under his eyebrows. “We got red, and we got white.”

I grimace a little, but drop a few coins on the bar. “A glass of your best red, please.”

He takes one of the coins and pushes the rest back to me. “Our best isn’t that good.” He takes out a bottle and pours some into a pewter cup. I take a sip and wince. He’s right.

I take out my mission file and look it over to pass the time. The list of possible inns isn’t that long, and I’ve checked most of them. It looks like the Nightgate Inn up in the Pale is the only one left, so that’s probably where I’ll find the Shield. It’s pretty out of the way from here, though; all of the roads north from Whiterun hold have to go far to the east or west first to circumvent the mountains. There is a path that cuts through them, passing through the ancient ruined city of Labyrinthian, but the notes say people tend to avoid it because the ruins are infested with trolls.

I’m still looking over the map when Link comes out of the side room. He looks at the map over my shoulder. “Going somewhere?”

“Going everywhere, eventually. Just not sure where to go next.”

“Well, I’m headed for Riften. Care to join me?” He smiles.

I glance at the notes again. There is an old fort near Riften that’s a strong possibility for a relic. The Boots are supposed to be “near a fort once owned by an order dedicated to the eradication of the unnatural”. The notes say Fort Dawnguard near Riften was once home to an ancient order of vampire hunters, so that could fit the bill. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind travelling together a bit longer,” I say, folding up the map.

“Should we get some breakfast first?” Link asks, motioning to the bar.

I glance at the cup of cheap wine. “I think I’ll just have some trail rations on the road.”

“Good idea, best to keep moving,” he nods.

“Yes, that is absolutely the reason,” I lie. “So, how are we getting to Riften? Carriage again?”

“Well, the carriages stop in Riverwood if you ask them to, but it’s not one of the places where they keep one waiting around for passengers. If we’re going by carriage, our best bet is to walk up the road to Whiterun and grab one there. Or we could just walk. It’d be a several day trip but not unreasonable.”

“Why don’t I just buy us a pair of horses? It seems like we’re intent on travelling all over Skyrim, and we’d be more mobile that way.”

Link blinks at me a few times. “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Please, it’s not an inconvenience to me, and we shouldn’t keep depending on carriages for transport. Horses will keep us agile, and that’s important since we’re kind of technically on the run.”

Link falters a bit, then mumbles, “Yeah, alright.”

“Great! Where can we get horses?”

“I think that would also be Whiterun.”

I pack up my papers, leaving the wine behind. “Let’s go to Whiterun then!”

~ ~ ~

It’s a surprisingly long walk to Whiterun from Riverwood, and I find myself compelled to fill the silence.

“So, what did you do, before you came to Skyrim?”

“I was a hunter,” Link answers.

“A hunter?” I say, “Interesting.”

More silence.

“So, what was it like being a hunter?”

“Fine.”

_This is like pulling teeth._

“What was your favorite part of-”

“I don’t really want to talk about my home life?” Link says like a question.

“Oh,” I say quietly.

Silence again.

“Tell me something nobody else knows about you.”

Link laughs. “HA HA! Hahhh… I don’t think we’re there yet.”

I sigh. “Okay, tell me something _lots_ of people know about you, then.”

He thinks. “Well, I guess lots of people know I’m the Dragonborn.”

I stop walking. A few steps later he stops and looks back at me quizzically.

“You mean, like the song?” I ask.

“Yep. That’s me. When the Greybeards called out ‘Dovahkiin’ about a week ago, it was me they were calling. I’ve had people I’ve never seen before tell me they’ve heard about me. I guess word is getting around. Hadn’t gotten to you yet, huh?”

I shake my head, then start walking again. Link continues walking as well.

“So what does that mean, exactly? To be the Dragonborn?”

“Well, apparently it means I can kill dragons. I guess nobody else can? Like, you can take a dragon down, but eventually it will always get back up again. Unless I take it down, then it stays down for good. I’ve only killed two dragons so far, though, and I had help both times, so…”

“So?” I cut in. “That’s still damn impressive! How do you do it? Why do they stay dead when it’s you who kills them?”

“Well, for some reason I’m able to absorb their soul when they die. The body sort of disintegrates and the spirit flies through the air and pours into me. Then I can… sort of… digest it? I guess? ...to learn a Word of Power from it. Then I can Shout like they can.”

“Shout.”

“Yeah, like, you said you were attacked by a dragon before. How did it attack you?”

“It breathed fire at me.”

“Did it ‘breathe’ fire at you? Or did it Shout fire at you?”

I think back. I do remember it letting out a peculiar kind of roar before and during the fire blast. I suppose it could have been words?

“Yeah, I think it said ‘Yol To Shol’ or something like that.”

Link nods. “Those are the words for fire. I think. I don’t actually know those ones yet. I know these ones though.” He turns toward a nearby tree and yells as loud as a dragon’s roar:

“ _fus_ _RO_ **_DAH!_** ”

Thunder cracks across the valley. A wave of force billows out from Link’s mouth, impacting the tree. It shakes as though hit with a hurricane blast, needles and branches and strips of bark flying back in the gale. The thunder echoes and slowly fades as the power diffuses and everything returns to normal.

I stand there, eyes wide, mouth agape, as Link turns and smirks at me. “Pretty neat, huh?” he says, grinning.

I stammer for a few seconds, then say, “Yeah, neat. It sure is... that…” I shake my head. “I’ve studied magic my whole life, and there are many things I can’t do - many things I’ve never seen, even - but this is something I’ve never even _heard_ of. Magic is something controlled by the mind, through focus and force of will. I’ve never heard of magical words before…”

“Well, the focus and force of will are part of it, too. I mean, I can say ‘fus ro dah’ and not put any power in it and nothing happens, and most people aren’t able to put power in them at all. You need to understand the words, deep in your soul, to be able to unlock their power. That’s what I take from a dragon’s soul when I digest it, I think: I gain their understanding of one of the Words of Power. The first dragon I killed gave me the understanding of Fus. I got the understandings of Ro and Dah from the Greybeards, and the soul of the second dragon I killed is just kind of… there, in me. When I focus real hard I can feel it there, waiting. Next time I find a Word of Power, I can use that soul to gain the dragon’s understanding of that word.”

I wish I was taking notes. “This is so fascinating! It’s like a whole new school of magic! No, bigger than that, it’s a whole new method for causing magical effects. Not just a different kind of spellcasting, but something as different from spellcasting as enchanting, or alchemy. Amazing!”

Link’s grin gets wider. “Yeah, I guess it is pretty great, isn’t it?”

We continue on, me bombarding him with questions like, what does it feel like to absorb a dragon’s soul, how do you know when you’ve found a word of power, and he is terrible at giving cogent answers but he does his uneducated best.

It must be hours, but it seems like mere moments later when we arrive at the Whiterun stables. The stable master is asking a thousand septims each for the horses, but I talk him down to 1,800 for a pair. He gets them saddled up and ready to go, I pay him, and we head out on our way.

I keep catching myself looking at Link as we ride our horses down the road. I smile, and then start to chuckle. He glances over at me and I burst out laughing. He chuckles nervously and says, “What? What’s funny?”

I fight through the laughter and say, “Okay, I really have to ask, what’s with the outfit? Where did you even get a hat like that? I’ve never seen anything so ridiculous!” I start laughing again.

He laughs a little bit at that and glances down at himself. “It’s actually really good armor. The fabric is enchanted or something. I found it in an old crypt, apparently it was once the armor of an ancient hero of Hyrule.”

That cuts my laughter off right quick. “Hyrule? Really?”

“Yeah, have you heard of it? It was an ancient civilization that thousands of years ago occupied what would become Tamriel.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard… That’s the third time I’ve heard Hyrule mentioned in less than a week. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? Is something going on?”

Link shrugs. “Maybe. About a week ago is the first time I heard of it, when I first came through Riverwood. A wooden chest had just washed up from the river. I was the first to notice it, which is weird because it had a ball of pink light floating above it.” He draws the sword from his back. “This sword was inside it, along with a note. When I took the sword, the ball of light flew away.”

“What did the note say?”

“Nothing that made sense to me,” he says, putting the sword away. He digs around in his pack for a minute before handing me a slip of paper. “See if you can make sense out of it.”

I unfold it and take a look.

_Northwest to the ancient forge. Into the past, follow the aeon path._

I puzzle at it for a few moments, waiting for comprehension to dawn on me. It doesn’t.

“Weird,” I finally say, handing it back to him. “But what does that have to do with Hyrule?”

“Right, well, the next day a courier brings me a letter that mentions Hyrule, and says the fairies will guide me. Don't ask me how I know, but for some reason I'm sure that ball of light guarding the chest was a fairy. I think this sword is one of the Relics of Hyrule the letter mentioned. What are you doing?”

I had started digging around in my pack when he mentioned the letter, and only now do I remember that I left all my things at the embassy. “I think I found a copy of that exact letter on the body of an orc in an old crypt,” I say, giving up the search. “She also found a Relic of Hyrule; those gauntlets I mentioned were the wrong ones?” Link nods. “There was a fairy just outside that crypt. I also knew what it was after reading the letter without having any way to know that. This is so weird.”

“Do you think it means something?” Link asks.

“I think it has to. I just have no idea what,” I answer.

We ride on in silence for a few minutes, then I ask, “So, I guess ‘Dovahkiin’ means ‘Dragonborn’?”

“Yep,” Link replies.

“In what language?”

“Dovahzul.”

“Dovahzul?”

“Yeah, Dragon tongue.”

“That’s odd,” I say, thinking.

“Why is that odd?”

“Because I recognized it as the same language spoken in my dreams.”

Link glances over at me. “Didn’t you say your dreams were messages from the Divines?”

I nod. “At least, I think they are.”

“Well,” Link says, “Only two of the Divines would speak to you in Dovahzul. It’s either Akatosh, the original dragon, or-” he stops suddenly.

“...Or?”

He continues reluctantly, “...Or it’s Talos, who in his life was Dragonborn.”

I laugh. “So it’s Akatosh then.” Link looks uncomfortable. I do a double take. “Wait, don’t tell me you actually believe that story about Tiber Septim becoming a God?”

“Talos was actually his original name,” Link explains, dodging the question. “He took on the name Tiber Septim when he founded the Empire, before that he was Talos of Atmora, a Nord. Why do you think they cling so tightly to him here in Skyrim?”

“...Do you worship Talos?” I ask softly.

Link shoots me a dangerous look. “Would you turn me in to the Thalmor if I said I did?”

I don’t answer right away. The tension hangs thickly in the air. Finally, I say, “No, I wouldn’t. Not now. But a few days ago I would have.”

Link sighs, then says, “Well, even so, I don’t. Not really. I don’t know if I ‘worship’ anybody. But I do believe that Talos is a God.”


End file.
